


Our Father, Who Ain't In Heaven

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Mötley Crüe, The Dirt (2019)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29691813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: One night, Mick found a scar, and it wasn't his.
Relationships: Mick Mars/Nikki Sixx
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Our Father, Who Ain't In Heaven

One night, Mick found a scar, and it wasn't his. 

In truth, Mick knew that he should've left well enough alone. It was a cold winter night in 1991, and Mick's spine was giving him too many fucking problems than it should've, and Nikki was sober, and they were laying in bed in some hotel in a distant, foreign country that Mick didn't know the language of. Nikki was smoking near the window and Mick was laying in bed, staring at the stained ceiling. 

The darkness outside was punctuated only by the sound of partying in some distant other room. Mick figured that it was probably Vince, or maybe Tommy. Or both. At that point, Mick couldn't be fucked to know. He was staring up at the ceiling, and then he sighed. 

"What's wrong, old man?" Nikki asked, as if such a thing could be solved with a simple question and a simple question. His eyes were like dying embers, and the dark strands of his hair hung around his face, still coated with a thin layer of hair spray from their concert just a few hours previous. 

"Well." Mick figured that Nikki could've have asked what _wasn't_ wrong and killed two birds with one stone, but Mick digressed. He made a face, and would've shrugged if his back wasn't temporarily paralyzed by the pain. 

Out of his fuzzy peripheral vision, Mick watched as Nikki shifted and rested against the wall. He looked too skinny, even in his sobriety. His eyes still looked hollow, dim. But Mick could rest in his assurance that Nikki wouldn't die in the immediate future, and that made Mick's world okay again. 

Until Mick's eyes drifted. He frowned deeply, concern brewing in his chest at the sight of a scar that went from Nikki's stomach, underneath his ribs, and straight down toward his bellybutton and into the waistband of his jeans. Mick narrowed his eyes. "The fuck is that?" He said, and nobody could've ever said that Mick wasn't a succinct person. 

"Hmmm?" Nikki hummed and barely moved his head. 

_"That."_ Mick emphasized, and he thrust his finger toward Nikki, angled toward his stomach. "Your scar." Mick felt like Tommy, needling for information when none would easily be shared, except, unlike the drummer, Mick knew when to stop. 

"Oh." Nikki's lips twisted ruefully. He looked down, at the smoke that was pluming up from the cigarette between his fingers. "I was wondering when you'd notice that." He tossed his hair out of his face. 

"Right." Mick said. "I expected myself to have seen it sooner, everything considered." Mick usually prided himself on being perceptive, observant, especially when it came to Nikki, who was susceptible to bottling up whatever was wrong with him until it came spilling out. 

"Eh." Nikki tossed the cigarette into the ashtray, and then he made his way toward the bed. He appeared unbothered. Mick tried to catch a sight of Nikki's eyes, but couldn't see them. 

"What's it from?" Mick asked, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know. After all, he'd heard enough horror stories from Nikki's past, but he felt obliged to look at a face he couldn't see, and ask about horrors that he hadn't witnessed. 

Nikki paused at the edge of the bed. "Are you sure you wanna hear?" He asked. 

"Only if you wanna tell me." Mick suddenly wanted a cigarette, but he didn't want to get up and get the pack and lighter. He wasn't qualified to deal with half the shit that Nikki threw at him, but Mick knew that he was the best person to have the job, because Nikki trusted him, and Nikki's trust was a fragile thing. 

"When I was ten, my stepdad - George - wanted to make sure that I wouldn't tell my grandparents about he was doing to me." Nikki said. "My mother wasn't an issue, she couldn't be fucked to thing about me, just told me to deal with it myself." His lip began to curl. 

Mick looked at him. "So he did that." It wasn't a question. 

"George was a sick fuck. Well, it takes a _really_ sickfuck to do what he did to me, but let's not broach _that_ subject." Nikki got into bed. "He knew that my grandparents were coming over, so while my pants were nice and undone, he took his hunting knife and _slit_ me." He gestured to his stomach. 

"Fuck, Nik." Mick muttered. 

"He threatened to kill my grandparents if I told them." Nikki said. 

And that, Mick knew, would've been the only threat good enough, or bad enough, to terrify Nikki into obeying, and that realization made Mick a sick combination of angry and stricken with sadness. 

But nothing like that would help Nikki now. He was an adult, scarred and filled with bad memories, and Mick could only be there for him in any way possible. 

"Well, that's over now. And you're with me." Mick hesitated as Nikki lay down and rested his head on Mick's chest in an affectionate gesture that Nikki still seemed to be getting used to. Mick tangled his hand in Nikki's hair. "And, if I ever see that asshole, then...he'll spent the rest of his life in pain." 

Nikki snickered against Mick's shoulder, and for a man who rarely laughed, it was better than nothing. 


End file.
